


The Will of the Gods

by nanuk_dain



Category: Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take it John Smith's first contact with the 'savages' was not Pocahontas, but Kocoum. How would things have developed if there had been an instant fascination between the two men?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Will of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the smallfandomfest over at Lj, prompt: trust

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0005kp88)   


The day the strangers set foot upon the land of my forefathers had started like any other day for me. We had returned from war just a few days earlier, but the routine of the duties in the village had taken over quickly. I had risen early and went to hunt with my fellow warriors before the sun had left the horizon behind. We returned successfully and the women took the prey with happy smiles for it meant we had meat for the following days. I and several other lead warriors were summoned by the Chief at our return and it was only at the high point of the sun that we were released.

Now I let my gaze travel over the village, everything seems at peace, there are children running around between the houses, women preparing food, men making and repairing bows, arrows, knives. I decide that I will not be missed and leave the village towards the waterfall where I tend to bath. I feel the urge to clean up after the hunt, some of the blood still clings to my hands and I want to wash it off. When I arrive at the waterfall, I loosen my long loincloth and put it down next to my knife on the ground. Then I carefully take my father's feather out of my hair and take extra care that it is hidden safely under the leather so I will not lose it to the wind or an animal. I walk into the pool before the waterfall, then I dive in, enjoying the feeling of the cool water caressing my skin.

When I surface, I wipe my long hair out of my eyes, then I swim over to the waterfall and step under it. I close my eyes, lose myself in the powerful feeling of the water pouring down on me, taking away every sound but the rushing of the water. I love this place, its calm, its peacefulness. I rarely have to share it when bathing, and I prefer to be alone. When I step out of the waterfall and back into the pool, I find myself face to face with a strange man who seems to be just as surprised as I am. I get into a fighting position before I freeze, cursing myself for having left my knife out of reach at the shore. I watch him raise a strangely shaped stick that I immediately comprehend to be some kind of weapon, and I know if he wants to kill me, his chances are far better than mine.

He has frozen in place, too, the stick pointed at me, but he makes no move to attack me. I notice that he is smaller than me, not much, just by two or three fingers. I stare into his face and I find eyes of a colour that I have never seen before, blue like the clear sky of an early morning of a hot day. They are intense, focussed on me, watching me with an expression I recognise as alert yet curious. He wears a strangely shaped hat and beneath it, I can see hair of the colour of the sun, just as new to me as the colour of his eyes. I feel the urge to touch it, to experience what it feels like, if it is as soft as it looks, and I am shocked by the power of this desire.

I do not move, even though I know that I should, either to attack him or to retreat. But I find I cannot set my limbs in motion, I feel as if a spell has been cast on me. I have heard of men who reported to be frozen by fear, but in all my time as a warrior, I have never experienced it. I think that this must be what it feels like, only that I do not feel fear, I feel excitement. I wonder if he is a sorcerer, but when I look in his eyes, I see that he seems to be under the same spell. He slowly lowers his strange weapon, his posture is open and non-threatening. Now I could kill him easily, but the thought never even crosses my mind.

He says something in a tongue I do not know and that sounds very strange to me, like nothing I have ever heard. I just look at him and find his eyes of the colour of the sky focussed on mine with a hopeful gaze as he repeats his words. I just continue staring at him because I have no idea what he is trying to tell me. He tries again, slower if I am not mistaken, but I can just shake my head. He turns towards me and throws his arms up in a gesture that is so sudden that it triggers my reflexes and before I have even consciously realised what my body is doing, I have caught him around the waist and have him thrown to the ground of the shore just behind him. It is obvious that I surprised him because his resistance takes a second to rise, but then he fights back, locks his leg around my waist and turns us over in a move that I can only admire for its swiftness. I feel his hands on my skin, they are warm and their grip is firm and his body presses against me while he stops my attempt to catch his arm in a lock.

He changes his hold on me and I am suddenly reminded that I am entirely naked, because I feel his hand high on the back of my thigh when he takes hold to keep me on the ground. I cannot hold back a gasp that comes as much from surprise as from the sudden arousal I feel coursing through my body. I wrench out of his grip and use a tick I learned a long time ago to switch our positions. I have grown hard with desire and I feel my flesh press against his thigh while I ring him to the ground. I use my superior weight to press him down and I remark that his breathing is much quicker than this little struggle justifies. When I lock eyes with him, I feel a new wave of desire shoot through my entire being. I shift my leg to press it into his groin and when I feel his hardness through the fabric of his clothes, we both freeze in our position.

I know he wants to seal his lips on mine, I can read it in his eyes and I know he can read the same desire in mine. I cannot explain what it is that makes me still on top of him, my fingers gripping tightly on his wrists, my gaze locked with his, my breath quickened by his closeness. His mouth is slightly agape and I find my gaze following his tongue when it traces over his bottom lip. We are both tense, every muscle in our bodies is strained, but this is not about fighting anymore. I know it and so does he. I am surprised how easy it is for me to understand him even though I do not know his words, nor does he know mine. I can read so much in his eyes, and I find myself bending down when I see his eyes falling half closed in the unmistakable sign of arousal. The only thing I can think of is that I want him, right here, right now.

There is a shout ringing through the forest and it breaks the spell that held us captive. I retreat out of instinct until there is some distance between us, my breathing hard and irregular. My gaze is still fixed on the stranger's face and I feel relieved to see that he is in no better state than I am. His eyes are unnaturally wide and his chest is heaving quickly under his breastplate. He stares at me and I see that he is as confused and shocked about the past minutes as I am. Then there is the shout again, closer this time, and it is in the strange language of the visitors. My stranger grumbles something under his breath that I assume is a curse.

He gets up and arranges his clothes, then he turns to me and says something that I do not understand. He frowns and bites his lip, obviously thinking how to make clear what he wants to tell me. He looks at me, for a moment, then he slowly approaches me, hands open and posture non-threatening, and I let him come closer. His eyes lock with mine and he reaches out, presses his flat hand against my chest, then against his own before he points at the waterfall and then at sun. _Meet me here at the waterfall tomorrow at the same time._ I nod slowly and repeat his gestures to show him that I have understood what he wants to tell me. A smile appears on his features and it brightens his whole face. I am stunned for a moment, it makes him look so young, so beautiful, like the sky and the sun were really part of his being. I feel overwhelmed and find myself return his smile and wonder at how strange this expression feels. I do not smile often, but the resulting light in his eyes is worth it.

The shout comes again, this time there are at least three different voices, and I can see him flinch and his face loses its radiant smile. He looks at me again for a second, then he turns, picks up his bag and his weapon and disappears between the trees. I stare after him with a frown on my face and cannot help but wonder what the Gods have planned for me. This was the most unusual experience I have ever had. I shake myself out of my thoughts, quickly finish bathing and dress so I can return to my people.

When I arrive at the village, Namotak is waiting for me to tell me that there is an emergency meeting in the Chief's house. We are greeted respectfully when we enter and then I learn that a group of strangers has landed on our shore, men with white skin, unknown clothing and strange weapons. They arrived in a boat that could hold our entire village, Namotak reports, and they are digging huge holes in the ground. I listen quietly, thinking of the man with hair like the sun and eyes like the sky, and know I should report about him. Yet I make no sound, find myself unable, unwilling, to share what had happened at the waterfall. I do not understand why.

***

It is early in the morning when I sit down and start building arrows. The Chief has ordered a surveillance of the strangers for the afternoon and we have to prepare our weapons. We are still low on arrows after the war and I sit together with several of my fellow warriors in comfortable silence while we carve the shafts, bind the feathers and fix the arrow-heads. Life in the village begins early and all around us, there are women making breakfast, children hanging sleepily around the fires and other warriors working on their own weapons.

I look around and my gaze finds Pocahontas. She is beautiful, fierce and has the strong spirit of her mother. I should want her to be my wife, just as the Chief has proposed. I should feel honoured and happy to be offered such a wife, but I feel nothing as I watched her. She does not attract my fascination like the stranger with the golden hair has done, she does not make me lose my temper like he did, she does not touch me the least. I do not know what is wrong with me. I frown, shake my head slightly and turn back to the arrows I have been working on.

I find that I cannot concentrate on my task. My thoughts wander back to my stranger, to this scarily intense connection I felt with him. My wish to see him again, to find out if this connection is still there when we meet a second time, is so strong that it influences my work. When I have to start fixing the same arrow-head for the third time, I excuse myself and leave the village. I am of no use there, so I decide to start with surveillance on my own and I walk towards the shore where the visitors' camp has been reported to be. I sneak up onto a tree that is close to their tents and lay low for a long time, watching them move across the area they have separated off by trunks they have shoved into the earth. I am indeed fascinated by their strange clothes, their strange language and their strange behaviour and find that watching them is indeed far more interesting than I had expected. I see many men, but not once can I spot my stranger with his hair like rays of the sun.

I am about to leave my post to return to the village when I see him approach the encampment in the company of another man. They carry their weapons and when they pass the tree, my stranger looks up, right to where I am hidden, as if he can see me, as if he felt I was there. I cannot help looking into his eyes with their beautiful and I know he knows I am there. My heart is beating quicker than it should and I find the answer to my question. The connection is still there, it seems even stronger than it had been the day before. He does not alert his men of my presence, just gives me a quick smile and leads the other man back into the confines of the encampment. I look towards the sun, it is close to the time we agreed to meet and I retreat from the tree when I see my stranger leaving the camp on his own. I shadow him on his way to the waterfall, partially to make sure he is alone, partially to watch him without him knowing.

He moves with the grace of a warrior and the ease of a man used to travelling. He reaches the waterfall on the quickest way from the camp, his footing sure and quick. I can read from this that he must have been scouting the area because he knows his way around. I watch him enter the clearing in front of the waterfall and wait for a few moments before I come out of the woods. His gaze finds mine immediately and I am hit by this connection again, I cannot look away. He seems to feel the same, because he freezes and just looks at me while I am approaching him, makes no move to defend himself.

I move slowly, carefully, not only because I am unsure about his reaction, but also about my own. Around him, I seem to forget everything I was taught by my mentors over the years of my training, every caution I learned from experience in my time as a warrior of the tribe. I am pulled towards him with a strength that is inexplicable to me, that is unreasonable, irresponsible and probably dangerous for me and my tribe, yet I cannot find the will inside me to fight it. He has not moved, his beautiful eyes are focussed on me, following my every motion, but there is no alert in them, not as there should be. It is that which tells me in no uncertain terms that he feels what I feel. This strange connection comes with a trust that is utterly profound without having any reason to be.

I come to stand right in front of him, much closer than I normally would, especially considering that I don't know him, that he is a stranger, possibly an enemy. I have never in my life been so unable to control my own body. It should scare me, and in some ways it does, but when my eyes find his and I see the fire in them, the same need and confusion I feel, I cannot seem to care about my fears. I raise my hand, slowly and as if it is not my mind's decision but my body's instinct. He does not flinch, does not back down, just holds my gaze and waits for me to act.

His hair is surprisingly soft under my fingers and I trail through it with a slow movement. It fascinates me with its strange, beautiful colour, its texture so much softer than my raven strands. I bury my hand in his hair, my fingernails gently scratching over his scalp. The strands are thick between my fingers, caressing my skin. I see his eyes fall half closed, feel him lean into my touch, seeking more contact, and my heart speeds up at the sensation. I feel arousal course through my veins again, just like it had happened the last time we touched.

His hands settle on my waist, the touch light, his fingers caressing my bare skin. I feel goosebumps spread all over my body and my fingers tighten into a fist in his hair. I find myself holding on without any real reason, since he does not try to bring any distance between us. On the contrary, he closes the last step that separates our bodies, and puts one hand on my chest. He says something in his tongue, and I can only stare at him. I still do not understand him, but I know he is trying to tell me something important.

He bites his lip, thinking, then he puts his hand flat against his own chest and repeats the same two words again and again. I listen to them, try to feel their shape on my tongue so I can repeat them, because I understand that he is telling me his name and I want to be able to say it.

“John Smith.” I repeat, slowly, unsure if the pronunciation is correct. A smile spreads over his lips, lightens up his face and tells me I did it right. I repeat it again, just to make sure I can, and I am rewarded with a chuckle. The sound sends hot and cold waves over my skin and I have to suppress a shudder.

I set my hand against my own chest, reluctantly letting go of my hold on his hair, and I say slowly, “Kocoum.”

He tilts his head to one side, just a bit, and his eyes follow the gesture of my hand. I repeat my name, wanting to hear it in his voice, coming from his lips.

“Kocoum.” he says after listening to me pronouncing it a few times, and feel myself smile as a response, unable to hold it back. His hand caresses my side, stroking over the skin, and I take pleasure in the touch in a way I never enjoyed being touched before. I am strangely comfortable in his presence, in this closeness, while I never liked people getting too close before. His fingers trail up and down my spine, causing goosebumps all over my body, and I feel the overwhelming urge to claim his mouth. I want to devour it, want to make this man mine. I settle my hand on his jaw, about to follow my desire, when the harsh sound of the village's drums echo through the woods.

I straighten up immediately, I know what they mean, I know they call for the council, I know they often lead to war. I frown, then I turn to search John Smith's gaze. I see the question in his eyes, but I don't have the words to explain.

“I have to go.” I say to him, my words slow and carefully pronounced. He looks at me and nods and I know he has understood. He steps back, lets go of me and I find myself missing his touch the instant his hands lose contact with my skin. I suppress the feeling, put my hand on his chest, then on mine, and point to the waterfall. I make a movement with my hand as if I was pressing down the sun, and he nods again. I return his nod and leave the clearing to get back to my village.

***

Something has to be done considering the strangers, the council decides, but the Chief knows we need more information before we can do anything, be it an attack or some kind of negotiation. I still do not mention my stranger – _John Smith_ – with a word, although I am aware of the fact that it is my duty to report my interaction with him. I am first and foremost a member of my tribe and it is my task to protect my people, but I cannot find it in me to mention my stranger. As if I am not meant to tell them about him.

After the council has finished, I follow their orders and take a group of ten men with me, those I know have great abilities in stealth, and we approach the settlement of the strangers. We spread out in the woods around the camp to get a good look at them, to observe them and get an impression of what we are up against. We stay hidden, not trying to attack, but only to gather information. I see my stranger amidst his men, working with them, laughing with them. A young man, barely out of boyhood, keeps him company and talks with him while they are digging. I watch him for a while, enjoying his laugh and his easy smile.

It is mostly chance that the strange animal that keeps them company notices one of my men and we quickly find ourselves in a fight we had not intended. The strangers attack readily, never considering that if we had wanted them dead, we could have killed them at any time. We spring into action, notching arrows and returning the fire. We do not know their weapons, but they are loud and they seem dangerous. I look at the deep scratch one of it hit into the tree behind which I am taking cover and order my men to retreat. We are not prepared for this.

Out of the corner of the eye, I see Namotak fall out of the tree, clutching his leg and curling up in pain. One of the stranger runs towards him, his weapon raised in preparation to hit him in the head, and I hurry towards them as quickly as I can. I wrestle the man down, push him back with enough force to make him hit his head on the stump behind him on the ground. Then I turn to grab Namotak, trusting my men to keep the attention away from us.

Suddenly, I catch sight of my stranger. He looks straight at me, his weapon ready, but I am certain that he will not fire. I have no way of knowing, yet I do, so I pick up Namotak and heave him over my shoulders, never breaking eye contact. Then I do something so reckless that I will never be able to explain it: I turn my back towards him. I make myself vulnerable, endanger my and Namotak's life while I retreat into the woods with him behind me, his weapon ready to kill us at any moment. He never fires, and I force myself not to think about it while I run towards the village, Namotak's weight on my shoulders.

***

I watch how the shaman treats Namotak, unable to do anything against this kind of wound that is unknown to all of us. I feel rage deep inside myself, against those strangers, against myself for being so foolish to open up to one of them. They are warmongering, they are greedy, they attack without thinking. I am aware that my stranger did not kill me when he could have. I know it was not him who hurt Namotak, yet I feel angry at him, too.

“We will fight this enemy, but we cannot do it alone.” the Chief decides, his voice grave as he looks at the wounded warrior again. “Kocoum.”

I turn towards him to follow him out of the tent. “Send messengers to every village in our nation. We will call on our brothers to help us fight.”

I nod and remain standing silently behind him when he addresses the people of our village. I cannot decide what I feel at the prospect of fighting the man I cannot resist. I do not care for the other strangers, but I am not certain that I will be able to kill him should the situation arise. I do not trust myself when I am around him.

“These men are dangerous.” The Chief says and lets his gaze wander over his people, trying to make his words sink in. “No one is to go near them.”

I already know that I will break that order.

***

It is long past the setting of the sun that I leave the village, using my ingrained stealth to disappear without anybody noticing. I cross the woods silently, walking towards the waterfall. My anger has not settled at all, and I wonder what I will do if my stranger shows. I am not sure that he will, not after the fight this afternoon. Something has shifted, we are on different sides, now. His men injured one of my men. We are enemies.

When I reach the waterfall, I can see my stranger standing by the shore, close to the water. He has his head raised, looking straight at me as if he had known all along where I was going to come from. Knowing that I would come here after all. This arrogant self-confidence enrages me even more and suddenly I find myself attacking him, throwing myself at him, my warrior's shout echoing over the clearing. My shoulder connects with his stomach and I can hear him grunt. The sound satisfies something inside me. I do not have the advantage for long, though, and he turns us around, straddling my legs and hooking his feet under my knees to keep me from moving. I struggle against him, arching up to destabilise his grip on me and succeeding to throw him off to the side. I immediately get on top of him, but his hands shoot out and grab my head, holding me still and shaking with the effort. I cannot help meeting his eyes and I know that all my anger, my fear, my inner turmoil will be visible to him.

He stills, the anger that had contorted his face bleeding out of him. Suddenly he relaxes under me and I feel his hands easing their grip, then his fingers are in my hair, digging in, massaging my scalp. I shudder under his touch and I know he feels it. Then his hands pull my head down, pressure firm, but somehow I know he would release me immediately if I resisted. I am overwhelmed by desire, I feel my heart beating with excitement in a way I have never felt before, neither in battle nor with a woman. I follow his hands, let myself be pulled closer towards his face. His fascinating eyes are watching me carefully, then they close and I feel the probing touch of his lips against mine.

I am not surprised, this had been coming from the very first moment on. Ever since we set eyes on each other, there had been this energy surrounding us, this tension that I knew would eventually result in this. It is not unusual for warriors to bond in this way, but I have never experienced it this instantly and this intensely with anybody, especially not a stranger. But this man is different, and I know with sudden clarity that I want him to be mine.

He pulls pack, eyes open, and his hold on my face has loosened slightly, as if he is giving me an opportunity to leave, but that is certainly not my intent. I close the distance between us, put my lips back on his and my tongue demands entry. He takes a sharp breath, then his mouth opens and his tongue challenges mine, his hands bury in my hair, his body moves sensually against mine. I hear myself moan and press closer to him, my fingers travelling over his body. He meets my every movement with equal passion and I understand that he claims me as much as I claim him. When this night is over, I will be his as much as he will be mine. I already know that I am unable to let him go. I am bound to him by the Gods' will and I do not intent to oppose their wish. I do not want to.

His fingers untangle from my hair and I feel their touch on the bare skin of my back, wandering down my sides to my hips. His hands find my backside, take hold of me and pull me closer towards him, pressing our groins together. Through our clothes, I feel his hardness press against mine and I cannot keep the growl inside, cannot keep from grinding down. He meets me halfway, arching up into me, and I feel more than hear him groan deep in his throat. All conscious thought leaves my mind, it is filled with sensation instead, with the feeling of his skin and his hair under my fingers, of his touch on my body, with his scent, his taste. My eyes have fallen shut and I arch into his hands, into his body, my tongue duelling with his in the most pleasurable way. But I feel cloth under my fingers and I wish for his warm skin instead, so I pull back enough to take a closer look at his clothes to find out how to remove them.

When I look down at him, he is the most beautiful sight I have ever experienced. His eyes are hooded and they are dark with desire, his mouth is slightly open with his lips swollen and red from our kisses, his breath is coming in the same harsh pants as mine and the skin of his cheeks and his neck has taken on a faint reddish tone. I feel waves of arousal wash over me, but I am aware of the care and tenderness that is part of them, of the urge to protect him and make him happy. It is a mixture of emotions I have never experienced before and they overwhelm me, shake me to my very core. For a moment, I am unable to do anything but straddle his thighs and stare into his face.

He seems to pick up on my emotional state because he sits up slowly, his hands sliding along my sides in a caress that is more comforting that arousing. His gaze is locked with mine and he does not hide anything from me, does not try to shield his thoughts, his feelings. He just takes hold of my hand and guides it to his chest, and I feel his quickened heartbeat under my palm. _I know what you feel. I feel it, too._

I cannot say how long I just stare into his beautiful eyes before my free hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back, then I seal my lips over his and kiss him with all I am. He opens willingly for me, his hands travel over my skin and settle around my waist, pulling my body flush against his. My fingers slide over his clothes, gripping here and pulling there in an attempt to free the garment and remove it. He chuckles in our kiss, comprehending what I want, and his hands leave me only long enough to strip off his tunic, then his shirt. I do not even notice where they land, I only revel in the beauty of his fair skin, of the strong lines of his body. My fingers are led by the urge to touch, to feel, to experience. They travel over the planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the broad chest and the firm stomach. I feel scars under my fingertips, old and new, a manifestation of the life he leads, and I know he feels those I have sustained in the many battles I have lived through.

His hands are back on my skin, wandering over my shoulders and my back down to my hips. They take hold of the sash that holds my loincloth and he looks at me before he slowly loosens it, pulling it off and baring my hardness for him to touch. He does not hesitate for even a moment, his hand enveloping me in a strong grip, and I can only let my head fall back, my eyes closing in pleasure, a groan deep in my throat. He takes up an easy, teasing rhythm, the pressure of his hand just perfect, making me lose my mind more and more with every second that passes. I dig my fingers into his bare shoulder, my hips thrusting into his grip without my mind having any control over it. His lips find my throat, he bites me just hard enough not to break skin, and twists his hand in a way that almost makes me find completion.

I grip his wrist in order to stop him because I want more than this, I want him under me, I want to claim him. He stills the movements of his hand and raises his head to look at me, a question in his gaze that I answer by sliding my free hand to his belt, opening it and finding the skin underneath. He smirks, a knowing look in his eyes, and lies back. Then he lifts his hips, an invitation for me to pull off the fabric of his last clothing. I follow the challenge he sets up, raise to my knees and strip him until there is nothing but bare skin underneath my fingertips. He is watching me, his lids lowered and his gaze heavy with desire, the smirk still tugging at his lips. I hold his gaze while I slowly stretch out above him, my hair brushing over his stomach and his chest on my way up to his face. I lower myself on his body, pleasure shooting through me when my skin meets his, from shoulders to toes, warm and soft and sweaty. I can hear him take a deep breath and the smirk is gone, replaced by his tongue licking over his lips in an almost hungry gesture.

His hands settle on my arms, wandering up to my shoulders, down my sides and then he spreads his legs for me to sink in between and his fingers dig into the flesh on my backside and press me down. I can only gasp when his hardness rubs against mine, hot and slick with the first drops of lust, and my head sinks down to rest on his collarbone, my mouth open in an uncontrolled groan. My hips thrust in sync with his, intensifying the friction, and I feel him arch up under beneath me. My perception narrows on the feeling of his body against mine, on the low growls he makes, on the scent of arousal that comes from him.

His hand finds mine and he pulls it up to his face, kissing the inside of my wrist and making me shudder with the intimacy of the gesture. Then he guides my fingers to his lips, his tongue coming out and wrapping around them, sucking them into the hot wetness of his mouth. I have to bite my lip hard to keep from coming right here and now. His intense gaze is focussed on me and I know what he is telling me. I have to swallow, but I do not find my voice, so I just nod. He smiles around my fingers and his tongue draws wet circles on my skin. When he releases my hand, I guide my slick fingers down between us, caressing the skin behind his hardness with just enough pressure to make him gasp. Then I find his entrance and let my fingertips pass over it, slowly spreading the wetness, going back to gather more. I take my time preparing him, first one finger, then two, stretching him and all the while teasing his his pleasure spot, making him arch and growl and gasp. I revel in his reactions to my touch, in the sounds I can pull from his lips.

When I slide into him, I go slowly and always pay attention to his reaction, knowing the pain it causes if one does not take care. He has thrown back his head, displaying the beautiful line of his throat and I cannot resist to bite the soft skin where neck joins shoulder once I am sheathed completely inside him. He groans, arches into me, onto my flesh, and I shudder at the sensation, at his open trust. He is giving me everything he is, and I know am losing myself in him. It feels fantastic.

I start moving inside him and when he suddenly arches his back, a hoarse groan falling from his lips, I know that I have found his pleasure spot again. I keep thrusting and his legs wrap around me, pulling me in even further. He takes up my rhythm effortlessly, meets my every thrust and pushes back on me while making these small sounds of pleasure that fire my arousal like nothing else. I bend down as far as I can, find his lips and pull him into a kiss, wet and deep, his hands forming fists in my hair, holding me down. I feel completion build inside me, so I take hold of his hardness, move my hand in time with my thrusts, intent on making him come before I do. I tighten my grip, push inside him and bend down to bite his earlobe. He shouts out and I feel his warm release spill over my hand, his muscles clenching around my hardness, and it is enough to push me over the edge. I see blinding whiteness behind my closed eyelids, hear a guttural sound that I know has come from my own throat.

I sag down on him, my breathing irregular and hollow, my forehead resting against his collarbone. I feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest caused by his equally laboured breathing, his hands on my back, his legs still wrapped around my waist. My mind clears only slowly, my eyes are closed in order to regain my strength. I have never felt so spent after coupling, but at the same time there is an incredibly deep sense of contentment. I feel relaxed and safe and allow myself to drift off for a while. I can tell from his relaxed body that my lover has already begun to fall asleep.

I wake to the feeling of fingers trailing over my face, along my brows, down my cheeks and my throat. When I open my eyes, I can tell that the night is still long, and the light of the stars and the moon enable me to see John Smith's face above me. In his gaze, there is a tenderness that I have never seen anybody direct at me, and the gentle stroking of his fingers on my skin seem like an outward manifestation of this feeling. I watch him, lose myself in his eyes, and suddenly I know what I want to do.

I sit up and raise my arms, my fingers finding and undoing the knot of the leather string around my neck. I remove my necklace, glance at the three pendants, then my gaze finds John Smith and I can see in his eyes that he understand what I am about to offer. There is a smile on his lips, a little, private one that makes my insides clench with the intensity of my affection for him. He bows his head and offers his neck to me and I reach out and put the necklace on him, firmly tying the knot. My fingertips trail along his throat, over his collarbone and down to the three pendants. I feel him shudder under my touch and when I look up to meet his eyes, they are dark with emotion.

I lick my lips in an unconscious reaction to it, and I know he sees it when his hands closes around my neck and pulls me in. His mouth finds mine, open and wet, and his tongue thrusts between my teeth with a wild passion that threatens to burn me. I revel in it, though, and return it in kind. He moans into my mouth and I feel the vibration of the sound in his chest where my hand rests on his skin, right below the necklace.

It is his turn to claim me, and I open up to him, exposing my throat to his bites, wanting to feel him with every fibre of my body. I have rarely allowed this kind of mating, but now I crave it with a passion that surprises me. Crave to feel him inside me, completing me, filling the emptiness that I never before realised was part of my life.

I turn us around, pull him on top of me and wrap my legs around his waist.

***

When I wake the second time, the moonlight paints the clearing in a light blue, its rays caressing my lover's fair skin. My head rests against his shoulder and I can hear his steady heartbeat. I feel his arm around my shoulders, his hand fisted in my hair, possessive even in his sleep. I smile and prop myself up on my elbow so I can look at him. He is sound asleep, his face turned towards me. I let my fingers trail over his collarbone where my necklace lies against his skin.

Every member of my tribe who sees him with it will know that he is my choice, that he is mine and I am his. When the Chief had asked me if I wanted to bind myself to his daughter, the thought of Pocahontas wearing my father's necklace had felt wrong, even though I had not been able to explain the feeling at the time. But when I look down at the sleeping figure of my stranger, the bone pendants just a little bit lighter than the colour of his fair skin, there is such a profound sense of contentment, pride and rightness that I cannot keep the smile off my lips. I may not understand the Gods' will, but I thank them for granting me this happiness. I do not know how we will go on, what our future may hold, but every moment I have with him is worth whatever pain I know is about to come.

***

The arrival of the warriors of the neighbouring tribe changes the atmosphere in the village. The air of war, of readiness and approaching violence is undeniable, and I never resented it before, but I find that I do now. I am a warrior down to my very core, fighting is a huge part of my life and I never minded it. No, I needed it, needed the thrill of battle, the profound sense of connection with my fellow warriors that comes from fighting together. But I never before had to fight somebody I wanted, needed, craved to protect. I never had to go against my instincts. I never felt split between my loyalty to my people and my mate.

The preparations for war are visible everywhere. Weapons are repaired, arrows are made and strategies are worked out. I attend the council meetings, but I keep quiet. I know we have reached a point where I have to tell the Chief about my relationship with one of our enemies. It has been going on for weeks, and the Chief is not the only one who has noticed the absence of my necklace, but in regard of the current situation, he refrained from asking who has it. He knows it is not his daughter. I do not dare to think of his reaction if I tell him that it is one of the strangers.

When I approach the waterfall that night, I intend to tell John Smith that I have to talk to my Chief. But when I see the look on his face as he approaches me, I know that there are far worse things going to come.

“It turns into a war, Kocoum.” he says, his usage of my tongue still halting and careful. “The men in my camp are arming up.”

“So are the warriors in my village.” I say and nod gravely. Still, even in this dark moment, I take pleasure in hearing him use my tongue. He is a quick learner, far more talented at picking up my tongue that I am at learning his.

“This will escalate quickly.” he murmurs, his brows furrowed and his gaze lowered. I know what he means, because I can feel it too.

I reach out and touch his neck. “We have to act.”

Before I can say anything else, he has me pressed against the tree in my back and his lips are sealed over mine. I can feel, I can _taste_ the desperation in his kiss and I bury my fingers in his hair and pull him closer, returning his touch just as fierce, kissing him with all I am.

“Let go of him!” Suddenly, the lips on mine are gone, and when I open my eyes, I find Pocahontas with her hands on John Smith's shoulders, pulling him away from me. Her expression is one of fierce protectiveness, and I understand that she thought he was attacking me. I am touched by her care for a moment, then I move in to clear the situation.

“He is no danger to me, Pocahontas.” I tell her, my voice firm and sincere. She turns towards me and frowns in confusion. Her gaze flickers back to John Smith and I can tell the exact moment she catches sight of my necklace around his neck. I can see the understanding grow in her expression and her gaze turns sad, almost compassionate.

“Kocoum, what have you done?” she asks as she looks up at me. I cannot keep myself from quickly moving between her and John Smith, although I know he is strong and needs no protection, especially not from her.

“Thomas! No!” I suddenly hear John Smith's voice behind me, dark and desperate, right before I whirl around. It happens to quick for me to react. I notice the young man with whom I have seen John Smith several times, then I hear a loud bang and see his weapon lighten up. I can only watch as John Smiths steps in front of me and then goes down to the ground without making another sound. The silence scares me more than any scream could have.

“John!” I have fallen on my knees by his side before anybody else has the time to react, my hands on his body, searching for an injury. My hand comes away bloody when I pass over his side and for a whole second, I stare at the red colouring my hand. Cold fingers wander down my spine because my lover has not moved ever since he hit the ground.

“Oh God.... John... I did not want to...” The young man stands next to us, frozen, his face an expression of horror. I cannot keep myself from snarling up at him, threatening him, protecting my mate. He steps back involuntarily, raising his hands in defence, his eyes panicked, shocked. “What did I do? I...”

He stops, shaking with what I recognise as shock, and I know he is no longer a thread. I have seen him with John, I know he is loyal to my mate, I know he aimed for me and not for John, thinking me a threat to his friend. Yet I want to hurt him, want to avenge the pain he inflicted upon my mate, and the only thing that keeps me from jumping up and killing him right there is that I know deep down that John Smith would never forgive me.

“Go!” I tell the boy, letting my voice sound as angry as I feel. I want him gone before I lose my temper. He does not move, is still frozen in place, his wide eyes staring at my mate's motionless form. It it Pocahontas who saves the boy's life by taking his arm and pulling him away from us, leading him to the edge on the clearing. Had he been next to me for only a moment longer, I would have attacked him, and she knew it.

I gather John Smith in my arms and lift his considerable weight. I wish I could carry him over my shoulder as I had done with Namotak, but due to his injury, I cannot. I begin walking without looking back, I know Pocahontas is following me because I can hear her light steps behind me. She passes me and throws a gaze over her shoulder.

“I will run ahead and alert Ketaka.” she says, her eyes full of sincere worry, before she turns and disappears between the trees. I am grateful for her silent support because I am very much aware that every moment that passes decides whether my mate will live or die. To have our shaman prepared for an injured man when I arrive can make the difference.

It takes me longer to get to the village than I like, but I do not dare to shake John's body more than absolutely necessary. I can feel his blood seeping through my fingers where I hold him, running warm and sticky down my right arm. He still has not moved, his eyes are closed, his head rests against my chest and his body is a dead weight in my arms. I have to push down my panic with force and concentrate on walking.

When I see the village, there are people gathered around the shaman's tent. Our disappearance did not pass unnoticed, then, or maybe it is our return. I feel the gazes of my people on me and the unconscious man in my arms who is obviously one of the strangers. I do not care about the people, I walk straight towards Ketaka's tent. Makan, a fellow warrior, stands at the entrance and looks at me while I approach. From his stance, I can tell that he knows something, and inside I hear Pocahontas' voice. Makan stills when I stop in front of him and I know he has seen my necklace around John Smith's neck, has made the connection. He looks up at me and I just nod, verifying his assumption. They will treat him differently if they know he I consider him my mate, and right now I need John Smith to get the best treatment possible. I need our shaman to take care of him.

I need him to survive.

***

I look at our shaman working on John's side. There is blood on the cloth under his motionless form and every moment I watch makes my fear rise. Fear that the injury might be fatal, fear that I cannot help him, fear that I might lose him. Feelings I have never experienced before, and they make me nervous.

“You have chosen him.” I hear the Chief's dark voice next to me and it tells me that it is not a question. He knows me, has been my mentor for a long time. He knows I would not give my father's necklace away lightly, knows I would not claim anybody without being ready to defend them with my life.

So I just nod, my gaze never leaving John. I hope the Chief will not make me choose between my mate and the tribe, because I know there is no choice. I cannot abandon John Smith, he is my soulmate, and although I do not wish to leave the tribe, but I will if I have to. I would die for both of them, but I will live only for John.

“My daughter tells me he protected you with his life.” The Chief goes on after a long moment of silence.

I nod again, this time I turn to look my Chief in the eyes. “That is why he is in Kekata's care.”

He holds my gaze and I feel as if he is looking into my soul. I have to force myself not to look away, not to shield my emotions, because I know that he is wise and just and I wish him to understand.

“He must be a good and honourable man if the Gods chose him as your mate.” The chief says after a long moment of silence. “The connection between you is obvious to everybody who sees you together.”

I bow my head in acknowledgement, but dare not yet to feel relief or hope. The Chief has not given me his blessing, he was just stating what he had observed.

“He has proven that he is worthy of you by offering his life for yours.” he says after another moment of silence. “I can see that my daughter would not have been the right choice for you. You need somebody who can match up with you in every aspect, in body and spirit.”

I look up and I see a smile tugging on his lips when he turns to face me. “He does that, doesn't he?”

I cannot help smirking at the memory of our first meeting, how my stranger pressed me down and how I reacted to it. “He does.”

“I have never seen you smile before.” the Chief points out, his voice low and warm. “He is good for you, then. Even if he is a stranger.”

“Do you not hold it against me that I did not tell you about him before?” I ask, because I need to know where I stand.

“I know you would not endanger the village.” The Chief replies and holds my gaze to make me see his sincerity. “I know your loyalty lies with him alone, not with his men.”

I nod. “It is him alone.”

“There will be a meeting of the council later. I wish for you to come and explain yourself. Rumours are already spreading and I do not wish for wrong accusations to circle within our people.” His voice is firm, this is not a request but an order.

I bow. “Yes, Chief.”

Our conversation is interrupted when Ketaka comes over to us, rubbing his hands with a bloodied cloth. His wise eyes travel between the Chief and me for a moment, but he does not comment on what he must have heard. Instead, he gestures at my mate. “He is strong, but the wound is deep and I do not know this kind of injury. I did what I could, now we can only wait for him to wake.”

I clench my jaw, effortlessly reading between the lines, hearing what the old shaman did not say. _I cannot do more for him. I do not know if he will survive._

Suddenly, I feel the large hand of the Chief on my shoulder and when I turn to look at him, his eyes are compassionate. “Go to his side, now. We will see later at the meeting.”

***

The general consensus at the council meeting is that we have to prepare for battle. The scouts report that the strangers are ready to strike and we need to be able to defend ourselves. Strategies are discussed, battle plans made. I am included in the preparations after I explained myself to the council. I announced my bond to John Smith, told them how we met and who he is, then I renewed my vow of loyalty to the Chief. Nobody had asked that of me, but I felt the urge to reassure them of my devotion to the tribe. I know that the Chief never doubted me and his support strengthened the acceptance by the other council members.

We are in the middle of planning the battle for the next day when Pocahontas acts as the voice of reason.

“They think we took him prisoner.” she remarks when there is a short moment of silence. It is the first time she spoke up in the meeting. “They are trying to free one of their own.”

She pauses, knowing she provided a new angle to look at the situation, one that none of us had considered before. I am astonished at her insight and I am reminded that she is her mother's daughter, a woman who was known and loved for her wisdom.

“He is a respected member of their group.” she goes on, looking at me, and I nod in confirmation. “They cannot leave him with whom they consider their enemy. We would not do so either, were we in their stead.”

There is a low murmur in the rows of the elders and the warriors. Pocahontas is quiet for a moment, then she continues, her voice even and firm, her gaze focussed at me. “The young man who injured your mate must have thought you were attacking John Smith. Just like I though he was attacking you.”

I sit up even straighter than I already do and nod to her in acknowledgement. She turns back to the council. “We made him leave and took his injured friend with us. Of course he assumes that we took him prisoner. Now the men are arming up to fight us and get their man back. We would do the same, had it been Kocoum in their hands.”

There is no murmur this time, just absolute silence. We all see her point, we all know she is right. It is Ketaka who speaks first. “You are wise beyond your years, Pocahontas.”

“We were at the brink of war before the stranger was injured.” one of the elders remarks. “How do we prevent war now that all spirits are out for it? There is no way of communicating with the strangers.”

“I do understand and speak enough of their tongue to talk to them.” I offer. All gazes turn towards me and I am met with an array of feelings; surprise, sympathy, astonishment, disapproval, anger, betrayal. Only now it sinks in how much time I must have spent with him if I am able to speak his language.

The Chief shakes his head slowly. “You have the face of their enemy, one of them even thinks you are the one who took their friend prisoner. You will never come close enough to use words before they have fired their weapons.”

I nod. “I know. We were thinking about a way to ease the tension and John Smith told me the exact same thing.”

“We have to be ready to withstand an attack, whether war is justified or not.” another elder says firmly, and most of the men in the tent nod in agreement. I know this is true. We cannot endanger the village only because we know the battle is based on a misunderstanding. It will not keep the strangers from killing our people. Pocahontas does not nod, there is a frown on her face, but she keeps quiet. I can see how intensely she is thinking, looking for another solution, but even she cannot to find one.

“Be ready at dawn.” The Chief says after a moment and the council disperses. There is much left to do until dawn.

***

I hear the drums take up their rhythm when I am about to shoulder my quiver. I check the fit of the knife sheaths on my belt and my ankle, then I take my bow and leave my tent. I do not go straight to the cliff where we are meant to gather, instead I turn and pass by Ketaka's tent where my mate is resting. I enter and bow in greeting to the old shaman who nods at me with a knowing smile.

“How is he?” I ask while I place my bow next to the entrance and walk over to the cot where John is lying.

“He has no fever, but he has not moved since you brought him here.” Ketaka looks at me when I kneel down next to my mate's side and touch my hand to his cheek. It is warm to the touch but not hot and I am a little relieved. Fever is always a bad sign, it is dangerous and often ends iwith death.

“Battle is about to start.” I say, even though I am aware the shaman knows that without me telling him. I do not add anything, we both know that I am here to say goodbye. We both know that I could die in battle, that this might be the last time I see him. I let my fingers caress my mate's face for a few moment, pass through the light strands of his hair, then I bend over and press my lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss. He does not move and I feel my heart clench.

I sit back and turn to Ketaka. “Will you take care of him?”

I know he hears what I did not say. _Will you take care of him if I do not come back?_

He watches me for a moment, then he nods. “I will. You do not need to worry, Kocoum. Focus on the fight so that you can take care of him yourself.”

I bow to him. “I will. Thank you.”

Then I rise to my feet and turn to leave, taking up my bow on my way out. I cannot help a last glance back to where my mate lies on the cot, the old shaman next to him, watching me with knowing, old eyes.

***

The sky is taking on the colour of blood, a dark red that spreads in shrouds over the dying blue of the night. The air is cold and heavy with anticipation, with the prospect of violence and the threat of death. Our warriors have gathered on the cliff, bows ready and aimed at the strangers who have taken position below us in the shadow of the trees. They have covered their heads with strangely shaped headgear that reflects the early light and their bodies are protected by heavy armour, the same kind I have seen my mate wear when I first met him. Their weapons are aimed at us, steady and sure.

The tension is rising with every second we stand in position and do not move. The council decided that we were not to be those to start the war and the order had been passed on to every single warrior. So we wait for the strangers to fire, to provoke us into defence. I feel the muscles in my back quiver with the tension that has taken hold of my whole body. My senses are sharpened and focussed on the men below us. My bowstring is taut, the arrow aiming for the tall man who seems to be their leader. He has the aura of a bad man, evil and greedy, and I wonder why those men follow him. Why John Smith had followed him.

“No, Kocoum.” I hear a voice behind me, pained but firm, and I straighten up without a conscious thought. I cannot keep myself from turning my head and I find my mate a few steps away from me. Ketaka stands behind him and the other warrior have cleared a path to let him pass.

“Do not start a war because of me.” he says in my tongue, his words slow but clear, loud enough for the men around me to understand. His skin is even paler than it usually is, there is a tight pull on his lips that tells me how much strength it costs him to walk. The bandages under his shirt are a vivid reminder of how close I came to losing him, same as the hand he has clutched to his side. He approaches me with careful steps, raises his hand and puts it on my arm that holds the bow, arrow still notched and ready. He looks me into the eyes, his gaze raw and honest and intense, asking me again without words not to start this war, and I follow the gentle pressure and lower my bow, slowly releasing the tension.

I can see the gratitude in his eyes, can see the strength it gives him that I followed his lead, and he turns towards his men who have assembled below the cliff, all of their eyes on him. I have to fight every instinct when he puts himself in front of me, between their weapons and me, shielding me with his own body. I know he does it not only because he want to protect me, but also to make his men see his point, and I know it would be a fatal error to undermine his authority with them, so I remain standing where I am. Every muscle in my body is taunt, I am tense and ready to move if I have to in order to keep him safe. He is injured, and I have been wounded enough times to know that it influences the reflexes. I will not let any more harm come to him, yet I understand his will to stand up to his men, to show that he is not a prisoner, that he is not in danger from my people.

“I was not taken prisoner.” I hear him say in his own tongue, his voice loud enough to reach his men below the cliff. I translate his words for my people to understand, knowing the importance of this moment. It could decide if we go to war or live in peace. “I was taken here to be healed form being shot.”

I repeat his word in my tongue again, and I watch how the boy who injured my mate lowers his weapon, a guilty expression on his face. I can only assume that he did not tell his men that it was him who hurt John Smith.

“There is no reason for war. There is no gold in this country, not the kind of valuables we came here for. But there are riches beyond our knowledge, riches in nature, in the land, in the people.” He glances at me and smiles before he turns back to his men. “We just have to open our eyes and turn away from greed. Happiness is not bound to gold.”

His words seem to have an effect, because the strangers are slowly, one after the other, lowering their weapons. There is a soft murmur coming from them, their faces show confusion, but they are believing him. It is only out of the corner of the eye that I notice how their leader raises his rifle and it takes me only a split second to understand that he is aiming for me. I am aware that John Smith is between us, that he will get hurt in the process, and that his leader does not seem to care the least. My hands find my mate's shoulders and I turn us around, pull him with me so that it is I who is shielding him. I hear the loud bang that is typical for their weapons and wait for the pain to hit, but nothing happens. After a moment, I turn to look down and I see the boy with his weapon raised, smoke coming from the far end, and the tall man is lying on the ground, cursing loudly and clutching his arm.

“What happened?”John Smith asks in my tongue and moves against me, trying to look over my shoulder.

“I think the boy who injured you just saved your life.” I reply and ease my grip on his arms so that he can step forwards.

“I am sorry, John!” I hear the boy shout and I see my mate nod in acknowledgement. Then the boy turns to his fellows, weapon pointing down. “It was me who shot John. I thought the Indian was attacking him.”

Now there are excited and angry shouts coming from the men, addressing the boy, the leader, my mate. But their weapons are lowered, the tension of battle and the readiness for violence is gone. I turn to look at the Chief who catches my gaze and nods, then he raises one hand and our warriors lower their bows, putting their arrows back into the quivers.

“I have to go down there.” John Smith says in front of me. “I do not want them to hurt poor Thomas.”

I take a step closer so that I stand next to him and wrap my arm around his waist, resting my hand on his hip, way below his injury, offering to support some of his weight. “Then I will come with you.”

He stiffens and turns to glance at me. I just return the gaze, open and honest. I will not leave his side, not after almost losing him only a few hours before. His men respect him, they came here to rescue him, they would not want to harm him, yet I will not let him go down there on his own. I want to be with him, I want to meet the men who he considers his friends, I want them to know that I will stand in his back no matter what. I want him to know that I will be there whenever he needs me.

“A first step to have our people understand each other?” he remarks after a moment, a smile tugging at his lips, and I feel him relax into my hold, accepting the help I offer, allowing me to support his weight.

“It is like the ripples in the water.” I reply as we begin walking. “They are small at first, then they grow to immeasurable size. But somebody has to start them.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes, and we step down towards his men who are watching us attentively. When we reach the plane below the cliff, the sun has taken over the sky and the warm rays touch the ground at our feet. I feel John Smith's hand on my hip, and when I turn towards him, his smile is warm and confident.

“Then we will start them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it, and if you did please let me know because this took a lot of love and effort and I'm in the final phase of my diploma (hence I shouldn't have written this in the first place) and you'd make my day with a wee comment! *hands out bribery-chocolate-cookies*
> 
> Oh, and the manip at the top of the story was made by me ^^


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